


An Offer Too Good to Refuse

by mechahotwings



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, F/M, Flogging, I'm not sorry, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Takes place after battle city, Using the dub name, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wartenberg Wheel, wartenberg pinwheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechahotwings/pseuds/mechahotwings
Summary: Shell out a stupid amount of money for your best friend's birthday gift, or accept the eccentric shopkeeper's proposition?Turns out you're cheap.





	An Offer Too Good to Refuse

**Author's Note:**

> You know, this started out as a weird idea in my head, and I didn't even like Arkana that much. The more I wrote, the more I grew to like him and how creepy and twisted he is (that, and I have a lot of fun with him in Duel Links). I have written more than what I've posted here, but I'm still debating on whether to continue this. We shall see.

When you opened the door, you weren't expecting to see someone so ostentatiously dressed standing behind the counter. He was tall and from what little skin you saw, he had an unnaturally white pallor. His garish red suit clung tightly to his slim frame, and the shoulder pads could probably poke someone's eye out. A tall red top hat sat upon his head and it was encircled in a blue and black striped ribbon that matched the mask on his face. The man gave you a leering grin. The room was dim and the sunlight through the open door gave him a natural spotlight.

“Welcome.” He greeted, his voice slick like oil. 

You blinked. “Uh. This _is_ the card shop?” 

“Come in and find out for yourself.” He challenged, folding his lanky arms over his chest. 

Your skin crawled at the thought of being alone with this man in the darkened room, but he hadn't done anything wrong. The trepidation you felt was irrational but you couldn't help but feel creeped out. 

You stepped fully inside, the door swinging shut behind you. His dark eyes watched as you walked across the room to a shelf of single cards nestled within plastic covers. Trying your best to ignore him, you turned your attention to rummaging through the cards. Every so often, your eyes would flick back to the man behind the counter. He was still watching. Waiting. He was unashamed of being caught staring-- he didn't look away every time your eyes met his. 

You were losing your nerve. Maybe you should leave.

“Can't find what you're looking for?” He asked, as if sensing that you were about to flee. 

“No.” You replied, nervously shifting from foot to foot. 

“Tell me what you're seeking. I might have it in the back.” 

“Do you have Magic Cylinder?”

The man cocked his head to the side in thought. “Perhaps.” He turned and disappeared behind a curtain that partitioned space behind the counter. 

While he was gone, you considered scampering out of the shop, but you decided that it would be rude. Courtesy kept you rooted to the spot. Several minutes had passed when you heard a crash and the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. You jumped in surprise, then crept behind the counter. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, pulling open the curtain. Peering inside, you saw a box of cards that had tumbled to the floor and burst open. The shopkeeper had been knocked back onto his bottom, his mask askew. Red, jagged edges of horrific burns peeked from under the mask and shirt collar. When his eyes met yours, his lips turned up into a sneer. 

Averting your eyes, you bent down and began collecting the scattered cards. The plastic sleeves made them slippery.

“Aren't you going to ask?” He had rearranged himself and his voice was dripping with distaste.

You paused and looked up at him. “What's your name?” 

He seemed taken off guard that you ignored the obvious question, but he quickly regained his composure. “Aren't you supposed to tell me your name first?”

So you did and went back to cleaning up. After several moments, he spoke again. “You can call me Arkana.” The harsh edge had been taken out of his tone. He stooped down and began picking up the cards by his feet. It took a few minutes, but the two of you finally repacked the cards into the box. 

“I _do_ have Magic Cylinder.” Arkana said at last, brushing the dirt off his suit as he stood. You got to your feet and Arkana clapped his hands together once. His hands spun around each other and his long fingers wiggled. Your eyebrows arched in confusion. Then, he reached out to the sleeve of your T shirt and plucked a card from underneath the fabric. Arkana presented it to you with a flourish: a mint condition, first edition, holographic Magic Cylinder was between his thumb and forefinger. “Last one in stock.” The price sticker on the plastic sleeve made your stomach sink into your shoes. 

“Oh.” You said quietly. After a week of going around town, it was just your luck that _this_ was the only Magic Cylinder for miles around. 

“For helping me out, I’m willing to give you a five percent discount…”

You did the math in your head, but the resulting price was still high. Arkana saw your hesitation. There was something predatory in his eyes. 

“If you can beat me in a duel, I'll make it thirty percent. Quite a steal.”

“I don't duel, so I guess I'll just take the five percent.” You shrugged, then turned to walk through the curtain back to the front. 

“Maybe we can come to another arrangement?” Arkana suggested, slowly waving the card. “Tell me; What is this card for?” 

The unsettling feeling you had earlier was coming back again. “It's for my best friend’s birthday.” 

“How long have the two of you been friends?” He pushed. 

“I guess it's been… twelve years.” 

Arkana gave you a toothy grin. It was not a nice expression. “And I'm sure this--” He tapped the card “-- would be the _best_ present that your friend has ever received.” Arkana took a step towards you, and it was then you had realized that you had taken a step back. “What if I just _gave_ you this card?” His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. 

You were not so easily wrapped up in his web. “What's the catch?” The words carried a hint of steel. 

“Let me give you a show that you have never experienced.” 

The true meaning of the invitation was plain to hear. Heat twinged your cheeks in indignation. “I am not a _prostitute_.” You seethed. 

“What if I never take off my clothes? What if the only skin that would touch you is my hands? Would that be so bad?” Arkana’s eyes were wide beneath the mask. He licked his thin lips. “Don't you want to give your best friend of over a decade a gift that they'll _always_ cherish?” 

Yes, you wanted to make their birthday special, and this was their favorite card. They had wanted for so long and here it was in this shop, and all you had to do was get touched by some weirdo. Then you could avoid shelling out an exorbitant amount of money for a glorified piece of paper. “Okay. Fine. Just-- no butt stuff. Or any bodily fluids or--” 

“I'll be on my best behavior.” Arkana drawled. “Give me just a moment.” He swept past you, through the curtain, and turned off the “open” light in the front window and locked the door. You pulled your cell phone out of your pocket and shot your best friend a quick text:

 _If I don't text you back later, call the police._

So now there was someone else who knew that you were doing something stupid. “Will this take long?” 

“No, not too long.” Arkana replied vaguely, brushing past you into the back room. He opened a door that you had assumed was a closet, but then you saw a stairwell leading down into darkness. “After you.” He beckoned. 

Taking a deep breath, you crossed the threshold and felt your way down into the basement. Your fingertips groped along the wall for a light switch. Arkana’s steps echoed behind yours and finally, you made it to the bottom. The air was cold and damp. 

The lights turned on with a snap, and you shielded your eyes against the sudden brilliance. Blinking spots out of your vision, you saw that you were in some kind of showroom. There was a raised circular stage in the middle of the room with lights focused on its center. Along the walls were sinister implements: an iron maiden with long spikes inside; an oblong box with a saw resting on top; a table with three sharp stiletto daggers-- were you about to die in Arkana’s murder basement? 

You turned towards him, the question plain on your face. He was leaning against the wall, smirking, not offering any explanation. This was your first challenge: would you turn and run? 

No. Stage props weren't going to scare you off. You squared your shoulders and walked to the edge of the platform. Arkana grabbed a remote and turned off some lights so the perimeter of the room was shrouded in shadow. In three long strides, he was in the middle of the stage extending his hand to you. 

“A magician can't have a show without his _lovely_ assistant.” He schmoozed. 

You graciously took his hand and stepped onto the stage, not bothering to respond to the vapid comment. Arkana pressed a button on his remote and something you had not noticed before was lowering from the ceiling. As it got closer, you realized that it was leather cuffs attached to a metal bar. A leather blindfold was buckled to the bar, ready for use. Nervousness balled your stomach into a tight knot. 

“Get undressed, and we can get started.” Arkana was watching you closely with his dark eyes. There was a feeling of shame-- you averted your eyes from his and began removing your clothes, making no show of it. Goosebumps rose along your arms as your skin became exposed to the air. Arkana made no comment on your appearance. Maybe he was being polite or maybe he liked what he saw. When you were nude, you used your foot to nudge your pile of clothes onto the corner of the stage. 

Arkana took the blindfold off of the metal bar and beckoned you over to him. First, he put the leather blindfold over your eyes and fastened the buckle behind your head. He was gentle and the inside was soft and padded. One at a time, he eased your arms into the metal cuffs-- no, not cuffs. Sleeves. Your arms were encased in the buttery soft fabric and you gripped the bar. It was surprisingly comfortable. At least, until the winch started up. 

You were being stretched up, up, up by your arms until you could no longer stand flat on the floor and were forced onto your tiptoes. Blind and completely at Arkana’s mercy, you listened to the rustle of fabric and his footsteps circling you. 

Fingertips brushed against your cheek, so softly that you thought you had imagined it. His thumb traced along your jawline to your chin. The smooth pad of his finger slid over your bottom lip. 

“The safety word is ‘red.’ When you say it, everything stops.” His voice was firm. His touch retreated from your lips to slide along the curve of your neck. His index finger easily found the pulse that was drumming a fierce tattoo in your veins. “Say ‘yellow’ to slow things down. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

Then his touch was gone. There was an electronic whirring sound that lasted several seconds. When it was finished, you heard a drawer open and a zipper slide down. Your muscles clenched. He said he was only going to touch you with his hands. There was a moment’s pause, and then the zipper slid back up. 

Strands of some kind of fabric brushed against the valley between your breasts, making you twitch in surprise. What was touching you? You stilled as the material dragged over your stomach then back up over the swell of your chest. Several loops around your body were made by the strands sliding across your skin. Your mind was still puzzling over what Arkana was using when you were snapped out of your thoughts. A quick, stinging pain slapped against your chest. A surprised cry tumbled out of your mouth and you instinctively jerked back. 

The mystery was gone. He had struck you with a flogger, and you knew it. 

“Stay still.” Arkana chided, whipping you across the stomach. He wasn’t doing it maliciously; the strikes weren’t hard, but _fuck_ they stung. The tail of the flogger traced along your sides, tickling, and you tried your damnedest to keep from squirming away. With another crack, the leather slapped against the meat of your ass.

Your fingers gripped the bar tighter and you gritted your teeth. Arkana whipped you across your shoulder blades. “Mother fucker.” You swore. He chuckled behind you, then used his foot to nudge your legs apart. The flogger caressed the insides of your calves and your lower thighs. He used a bob of the flogger to send the strands up to touch against your sex. Instinctively, you clenched your thighs together. 

“Open.” Arkana commanded, swatting your ass a second time. Grudgingly, you parted your legs for him. He repeated his motion: up the calves, up the thighs, a gentle pat against your sex. You could set a metronome to his movements; each stroke was precise and you found yourself anticipating the strands of leather. Your groin was beginning to feel warm with arousal. The lull of repetition was shattered when he whipped you across your back. Your knee-jerk response was a “Fuck you” as you flinched. 

“Curse at me all you like. You know how to make it stop.” 

The tails traced along your spine, almost soothing the agitated skin. He was going up, then across the shoulder blades then-- you grunted as the flogger stung your ass again. Your muscles clenched so tightly that you could probably hold that fucking Magic Cylinder card between your cheeks.

“You're getting too tense.” Arkana said at last, though it sounded more as if he was talking to himself. The leather tickled along your shoulder, up your neck, down over your chest and stomach, then back up in a slow, soothing circle. You forced yourself to take deep breaths. He didn't rush you; he let you just breathe until your muscles relaxed under the calming circles of the flogger’s tails. When he was satisfied, the touch disappeared.

There was a sound of Arkana rifling through drawers again and you knew that he had found a new toy. “How are you holding up? Still feel your arms?”

Yes, you felt your arms and the muscles were aching in your back, shoulders, calves, and the arches of your feet. It was nothing you couldn't handle, but it was still uncomfortable. Your nerves were dully throbbing where you had been whipped. “My ego is bruised, but I'm fine.” You drawled. 

Arkana didn't respond to your sarcastic remark. Instead, he pressed something cold and metallic and sharp against your belly. You gasped in surprise, fingers gripping the bar. Was that a knife? The cold object receded, only to reappear again along your ribs. It rolled up towards your armpit, pricking your skin before Arkana took it away again. It wasn't a knife, but was it a spur? 

The wheel rolled over the sensitive skin where you had been flogged before, sending sharp sparks of agony through your nerves. When the wheel was drawn away, you were breathing hard. The spikes of the spur made a slow descent from your collarbone to your navel. Your breath hitched and your mouth was open in a silent moan as the pain trickled down your body. _Really?_ You thought to yourself in disbelief. _I **like** this?_

Arkana followed the curve of your breasts, more gently rolling the wheel over the sensitive area. The prickly feeling was only heightening the pleasure as the spur got closer and closer to-- you hissed as the metal traveled over the buds of your stiff nipples. Your toes curled. There was a throaty chuckle by your ear, the warm breath tickling the skin. “You've been so good for me.” Arkana purred, the toy pricking to your sternum. He applied more pressure to the wheel, raking it downwards. You were shocked as a whimper forced its way out of your mouth. 

The spur rolled from your knee to your inner thigh, between your spread legs. Unlike with the flogger, you felt no fear as the steel drew near to your core. You desired it. Arkana delivered, gently guiding the spikes along your lips.

“I see that you're enjoying this.” He teased. It was a surprise when Arkana touched you, his cool fingers parting your folds, exposing your most sensitive bundle of nerves. He applied a delicate pressure with the wheel, pricking your clit. You shuddered, feeling the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He repeated the motion, sending fire burning through your nerves. You involuntarily bucked your hips, and for a brief moment, you felt his fingertips brush against that velvety flesh. There was a tremble in your legs. 

Then the wheel was rolling away, pricking its way down your inner thigh. Then it dug in its barbs, making a hot flash of pain that sent you gasping, albeit not in pleasure. Arkana made another agonizing slice down your calf. “Yellow.” The wheel promptly jerked back, away from your skin. You wondered if you had been cut, but you felt no blood welling up, only a sting where it once was. You heard him put down the spur and take a breath. “How are you?” 

“I'm ok, but that was too much.” You tried to take deep breaths. The ache in your back and feet was sharper, and you realized just how much Arkana was distracting you from it. With no stimulus, your muscles burned. It was hard to relax them. His palm smoothed across your legs in the spots that it felt as if he cut you. The skin was raw, and you hissed. 

There was the sound of his footsteps behind you, then with his hands, he took you by the waist, pressing you up against him. Arkana let you lean back into him, providing a modicum of relief to your sore feet. One hand slid onto your hip and the other followed your curves, sliding up to the swell of your breasts, palming the soft flesh. His touch was gentle and firm, assuaging your sensitive skin. You could feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his suit, pressing against your back. His chin rested against your bare shoulder, reminding you of how tall he was. Warm breath fanned against your ear, making your skin tingle. You could smell his cologne; it was woody and spicy and you breathed it in. 

He tweaked your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and you arched your back against him. The hand on your hip bone roved up, over your stomach, and down to the delta between your legs. You felt his erection pressing against the cleft of your ass. He was hard, and you ground yourself against him. Arkana let out a low growl in your ear. “Do you want me to take you?” He pulled at the stiff peak in your chest as his fingers pressed against your slit. The evidence of your arousal was coating his fingers. “Do you want to be my pet, chained up here in my basement?” 

His thumb flicked over your hardened nipple as he delved between your folds with his other hand. You didn't dignify his questions with a response; either he was trying to get you riled up or he was talking for his own pleasure.

Arkana eased a long finger inside of you, pumping it in and out with languid thrusts of his wrist. Your head lolled back as he groped at your chest and fingered you in tandem. “So hot and wet. You've been craving me, haven't you?” He added a second finger to the first, picking up his pace. His actions were making a wet sound, and you could feel your cheeks burn as his fingerfucking permeated the room. “You’ve been such a _good_ girl; so obedient.” 

“Shut up.” You growled, feeling heat pooling in your core. 

“Don't you think you deserve praise?” Arkana asked, his thumb stroking your clit. The fire in your nerves was growing more intense. You were leaning more heavily into him, feeling your legs strain underneath you. He played you like a fiddle, his fingers knew exactly where to touch and stroke. When he put pressure against your g spot, you cried out, your breaths becoming ragged pants. You were so close, so fucking close to coming you could almost feel it-- and then his fingers stilled.

“No. Nonononono.” You bucked your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his hand, but his arms tightened around you, holding you in place. “Oh come on, I've let you do so much.” The tight knot in your belly was disintegrating, unbound by a lost thread. Arkana was silent and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His cock was still pressing against your backside through his pants. Squirming, you made a futile effort to grind yourself against him. “Son of a bitch.” You were going to kick him. You were going to kick him in his toothpick shins and-- 

His fingers resumed their rhythm as if he hadn't stopped at all. It took you by surprise, and your body jolted when his thumb pressed lightly against your clitoris. Your thoughts died away as you lost yourself again in Arkana’s touch. It didn't take him as long to bring you back to just inches within your climax, it was just barely out of reach. He stopped again. You cried out in frustration, squeezing your legs together to trap his hand between your thighs, not even caring if it hurt him. “I'm going to say the word.” You threatened. “I'm going to say it, and when I get out of here, I'm going to grab you and I'm going to make you finish me.” He didn't react at all, but you thought you heard a breathy chuckle. You thrashed once, trying to dislodge yourself from his grasp, but all you managed to do was pull on your throbbing arms. 

When you stilled, Arkana parted your legs and began again. You let out a breath as his thumb rolled in slow circles as he fingerfucked you. It took longer this time to bring you close again. The walls around Arkana's fingers were pressing down, tightening, readying for release-- when he stopped again. 

“Pervert.” You sneered, hanging limply from your bar. That was it. No wiggling or thrashing or kicking. No more threats or insults. Was Arkana just going to keep working you up until his fingers became wrinkly inside you? 

“What is it you desire?” He asked, his voice low in your ear. His lips brushed against your earlobe and you shivered. The thumb on your chest was rolling in slow circles over your nipple. 

You scoffed at the question. “I want to come.” Then, as an afterthought, you added “Please.”

“ _Please_ …?” He goaded. 

“Please, Arkana.” You amended. There was no way you were going to call him _master_ or _daddy_ or whatever inane bullshit. However, he accepted your answer and he began stroking you again, his thumb sliding over your delicate bundle of nerves. 

As skilled as his hands were, you didn't think that they would be enough this time around-- sure, he'd be able to get you off fine, but you wanted a more powerful orgasm to end this experience. 

“Arkana.” Your face felt warm with what you were about to ask of him. 

He hummed in acknowledgement, not pausing in his attentions.

“You… can use more than just your hands.” You said tentatively. “I would prefer it.” 

“More than just my hands.” He repeated blithely. “So, what? My tongue? My foot?” He tweaked your clit and you drew a breath. If he wanted you to spell it out, then you would. 

“I want you to fuck me, Arkana. Please.” Your skin felt hot after having said it. 

He laughed, delighting in your discomfort. “So I was right. You do crave me.” The sentence was punctuated with a forceful push of his fingers, the pads pressing into a place that made your knees weak. He withdrew his hand and his footsteps circled to the front of you. You heard his zipper go down again and the sound of something being put away.

Arkana gripped a thigh with one hand, using it to hitch a leg around his waist. He was lining himself up, holding onto you tightly as his hips pistoned forwards, impaling you on his turgid length in one thrust. He slid deeper and deeper into you and you were able to get a picture of him: long, but not too girthy. When he was fully sheathed inside you, he paused to let you adjust to him. With a firm grip, he brought your leg around his waist up so that it was over his shoulder. He did the same to your other leg then used one hand to hold your thigh to him. The other sought out the sensitive nerves just above where the two of you were joined.

He set a rhythm, bouncing you upon his cock in short, fast strokes as his fingers rubbed at your clit in small circles. The motion was pulling painfully on your arms, but some of your weight was being supported by Arkana. His hand dug into the meat of your thigh, and your blood boiled. You tried to imagine what he looked like fucking you. Was his face gloating, triumphant under his masked as he conquered you? You remembered how intense Arkana’s gaze was upstairs as he watched you. It thrilled you to think he was looking at you like that again, completely taken in by the obscenity of how you looked. Splayed out and helpless, legs open to him, tits bouncing with each ardent push of his hips-- and nothing would escape his notice. 

His touch changed, from circles to up and down strokes, but his pace remained constant. A low sound tumbled out of your throat, and your fingers gripped the bar. You were so, so close. 

“Come for me.” Arkana panted. His voice had lost its aloof composure. You could hear that he was coming undone, that fucking you was ruining him. The command made you feel hot. “Come for me, pet.” 

You came with an explosion of heat and pressure. Fireworks were going off behind your closed eyes and you cried out, gasping for breath, your walls squeezing down on Arkana’s dick. The hand on your clit moved to grip your other thigh. With both hands controlling you, he pounded into you relentlessly with deep, long strokes that touched you deep in your core as he rode out your orgasm. His rutting was only drawing out your climax longer, and you were shuddering, gasping, cursing with the intense waves of pleasure that rippled through your muscles. Arkana’s fingers dug deeper into you, so hard that you knew there would be bruises, but you didn’t care as he continued to plow into you. Finally, his thrusts became erratic and he allowed himself to moan and you felt a flood of his seed spilling into you as he gave a few more haphazard thrusts. Then he held still, panting, still sheathed within you. 

He stayed like that for several moments, and you could feel him throbbing inside you until he finally pulled out and eased you back onto the ground. You heard him put himself away, his zipper sliding back up. The winch lowered you so that your feet were back firmly upon the floor, and you stumbled, your arm muscles pulled as the supports caught you. Wincing, you tried to right yourself. 

With nimble fingers, Arkana unfastened the buckle on your blindfold, pulling it off slowly. You blinked the stage light out of your eyes as he moved to the buckles on the arm sleeves. When you were fully released, your arms were sore and you swayed unsteadily on your feet. You tried rubbing feeling back into your upper arms. He was at your side, looking at your arms, looking for any damage. An attempt was made to shuffle towards your clothes, but Arkana looped his arm around you and drew you to him.

“I'm not going to run you out after I put you through the ringer.” He scoffed, stepping down from the stage and offering you his hand. You took it, easing yourself down and sitting on the cool wood. Arkana sat next to you, a handbreadth away. 

What were you supposed to do now? Just sit and rest? Normally, you'd settle in with your partner for a little cuddling, but that seemed too intimate given that you didn't really know Arkana. Anyways, he didn't seem like the kind of person to do that. “What do you usually do after this?” 

He turned to you. “The few times I've brought a stranger in here, they would just take a minute to rest and leave.” 

“Oh.” You said quietly, getting the hint. “Well, I don't want to overstay my welcome.” Pushing yourself to your feet, you were surprised when his hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you right back down to the stage. 

“I didn't mean that I wanted you to leave right this moment when you've barely recuperated.” He used his free hand to run along his slicked back hair; he must have put his top hat away earlier. 

“I want my pants.” You blurted out. Arkana barked a laugh, but did not stop you again as you got up to dress. Putting your clothes back on was tricky. If you bent too far one way or another, pain flared up in your muscles. The shoes and socks were more difficult. Finally, you sat back down on the stage and flopped down onto the cool hardwood of the floor, your legs dangling off the side. Arkana looked over at the sound, but didn't comment on your lack of decorum. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, dreading to look at the screen. Ten missed text messages from your best friend, all of which were along the lines of “ _where are you”_ and _“what are you doing.”_ It seemed that you had some explaining to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing straight-up BDSM. If there are any of you that practice this, let me know how I did. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated. Constructive criticism welcome. If you thought that this story sucked, tell me why!


End file.
